My Fault
by Obsidian Skin
Summary: "Hey, Mr. Stark," Peter whispered. "It's me, it's Peter…again. Sorry I didn't come see you yesterday. Aunt May sent these," he said, holding the bouquet of blue and yellow flowers aloft. "I feel kind of stupid bringing these here. I just never took you for a flower kind of guy, you know? But I guess it's the right thing to do, right? Send flowers when this sort of thing happens."


**A/N:** Has this been done yet?

 **DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of other! ;)

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"Hey, Mr. Stark," Peter whispered. "It's me, it's Peter…again. Sorry I didn't come see you yesterday. May was upset cause I haven't been spending as much time with her as I used to, you know with patrolling and all that? She's been really cool about this whole Spider-Man thing though. Way cooler than I would've ever thought."

Peter sighed and ran a shaky hand through his already mussed curls.

"Patrol's been going really good. I helped a little girl find her mom today and they both gave me a kiss on the cheek," Peter chuckled. "They were really sweet. Ummm what else?" He bit his lip as he wracked his brain, searching for something, anything to talk about.

"I got an A on my calculus test," he supplied weakly. "And on my Spanish test, and also on my Chemistry test…"

Peter dropped his gaze as he absentmindedly scuffed at the ground with the toe of his sneaker. "Mrs. Borden, our school guidance counselor, said that if I kept my grades up like this that I could probably get a full ride to whatever colleges I'm thinking about applying to. So far, I've narrowed my choices down to Caltech and MIT."

He paused out of habit, waiting for a response knowing full well that he wasn't getting one.

"Think I could get some street cred at your alma mater if I said I knew you?" Peter snorted as he shoved one of his hands in his jacket pocket, the other still firmly clutching a bouquet of store-bought flowers he had forgotten he was holding.

"Oh yeah, Aunt May sent these," he said, holding the bouquet of blue and yellow flowers aloft. "We spent over an hour looking for these. She was very particular about which flowers we bought. Something about their colors and what they mean?" Peter shrugged, just as confused as he had been when May had tried to explained it him.

"I don't really know, it didn't make sense to me." He lowered his arm, allowing the flowers to hang at his side once again. "I feel kind of stupid bringing these here. I just never took you for a flower kind of guy, you know?"

Peter rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably. "But I guess it's the right thing to do, right? Send flowers when this sort of thing happens." Peter tried to keep his voice strong, to sound nonchalant, but his emotions got the best of him and the words began to sound strangled.

He swallowed heavily as he felt a familiar lump creeping up his throat. "Oh god," he whispered as he exhaled shakily.

"This is all my fault," he breathed, bouncing restlessly on the balls of his feet. "This never should have happened. God, you weren't even supposed to be there."

The plastic wrapped bouquet slipped from his fingers, the sound of the cellophane crinkling against the ground not even registering in Peter's mind as he struggled to fight back tears.

"I should've known what he was going to do," Peter forced out. "I've been tracking him for weeks. I know his patterns, his haunts, his targets. I should've seen this coming. I'm so stupid."

Peter's hands unconsciously curled into fists, nails biting into his palms hard enough that they drew blood. But Peter could care less. The physical pain wasn't anywhere near to the level of mental anguish Peter was putting himself through.

Hands still curled into fists, Peter brought his hands up and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, feeling the blood begin to leak down his cheeks. The ugly scene from last week was painted on the back of his eyelids, playing over and over again on an endless loop.

Peter hadn't gotten more than two hours of sleep combined from the past four nights. Every time he closed his eyes, he was forced to relieve watching Tony fall from the air, the familiar blue light of the arc reactor missing.

"I should've paid more attention," he spat, angry at no one but himself.

The man Peter had been tracking, called himself the Bombardier, had caught on to the fact that Spider-Man was on his tail. The tracking had gone both ways. The Bombardier had set a trap for Peter which the kid had walked right into.

The man had spouted off some monologue about how he was going to use Peter as part of some grand scheme to drop bombs over half of Manhattan.

Peter hadn't paying too close attention. He was more focused on the fact the man had someone made restraints that Peter couldn't bust out of. He didn't know how long the man had held him there, babbling on and on about the most random facts. Facts including but not limited to what the man had had for breakfast, a childhood memory of playing chess with his late grandfather, and something about his love for macaroni and cheese.

Every few hours, the man would abandon whatever it was he was tinkering with and would saunter over to Peter, still chatting away, and inject the kid with a strange purple colored liquid. Peter didn't know what it was but he did know that he hated it.

It took only seconds to take effect. It made him feel as though there was lead running through his veins, making his limbs feel incredibly heavy and uncooperative. His head lolled on his shoulders, his neck unable to support its weight. His vision shifted in and out of focus, the drug making him unbelievably drowsy.

The one thing that had roused Peter's sluggish mind was the man's words that boasted about how he knew Tony Stark would come for Spider-Man. How he knew that the billionaire cared about the neighborhood crime watch, he just didn't know why.

He rambled on about how he was using Peter as bait for Stark, how he needed Tony Stark's suit for part of the weapon he was building. _"He'll come for you,"_ the man had whispered in Peter's ear. _"Just wait."_

Peter knew he was right. And that scared him to death.

"He shouldn't have been able to get the drop on me like that," Peter ground out through clenched teeth. He ignored the pressure behind his eyes as he shoved the heels of his hands deeper into their sockets.

"You wouldn't even be in this situation if I had just paid attention to – to _everything_!" He exploded, raking his hands through his hair, grasping two handfuls and viciously tugging at the strands. He could feel his scalp protesting at the rough treatment but he didn't care.

He screwed his eyes shut and watched the replay of the red and gold Iron Man suit bursting a window near the top of the warehouse. He remembered himself trying to warn Tony about the Bombardier, but the words never seemed to make it past his brain.

He vividly recalled the sudden bolt of red light that had engulfed the suit and how instant the effect was.

Peter paced back in forth quickly, hands still in his hair. "This is my fault. It's all my fault," he huffed hysterically, eyes wide and searching. He didn't think twice about May's bouquet as he trampled over them.

"It's my fault," he repeated breathlessly, hands returning to fists as he beat them against his temples. " _My fault, my fault, my fault_."

He choked over the words, the lump in his throat returning with a vengeance. And suddenly, Peter couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't pretend that everything was okay when that was so far from the truth.

Peter felt his palms sting against the cool tile as they collided with the hospital floor, only a dull ache in knees alerting him as to how he got there.

He felt hot tears pour over his cheeks, tears that he'd been forcing back for so long finally breaking through his barrier. They mingled with the blood leftover from his hands and splashed a startling pink on the otherwise pristine floor.

The sobs ripped through his lean frame, chest heaving and fighting for air as every breath was forced out as quickly as it came in.

Peter knew he was hyperventilating but he didn't know how to stop. There wasn't enough air in the room the give his lungs the relief they craved.

How could he have let this happen? Peter deserved everything he was feeling at that moment. All the guilt, the pain, the shame. In fact, he deserved worse. It should be him lying in that hospital bed. It should be him with a breathing tube shoved down his throat, having a machine breathe for him.

It should be him in a coma, trapped inside his own body with no way to escape his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he gasped amidst the sobs, eyes screwed shut in vain against the onslaught of tears. "I'm so, so sorry."

He didn't know how long he stayed on the floor, sobs still relentlessly wracking his body. He was so consumed by guilt that he barely noticed when another figure joined him on the floor, a gentle hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

That alone was enough to help Peter begin to wind down from the hysteria. His breathing slowed into shuddering gasps instead of desperate heave. He sat back on his heels and scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Peter?" A soft voice spoke. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

Peter finally turned to look over at the figure sitting kneeling next to him. He recognized the red hair and caring face in an instant. "Ms. Potts, I– I– I am so–"

Pepper shushed him as her hand continued to rub mindless circles between Peter's shoulder blades. "Do you think you can stand?" She asked, eyebrows furrowed as she frowned concernedly.

At Peter's nod, the two of them rose to their feet and turned to face the room's other occupant.

For a man who was usually larger than life, Tony looked impossibly small in that hospital bed. Yeah, maybe he wasn't the tallest or brawniest guy around, but what he lacked in height he made up for in personality. But now, lying there unconscious on the bed, it was almost as if he had shrunk.

In addition to the breathing tube, there was an IV in his elbow, a pulse monitor on his finger, a feeding tube that went in through his nose, and EKG electrodes attached to his chest. There were two many wires and tubes for Peter's liking. Tony shouldn't need any of them. He shouldn't even be here in the first place.

"He's going to be okay, Peter," Pepper said, breaking the silence.

A shaky laugh escaped Peter before he could catch it. "Yeah, no thanks to me," he mumbled, eyes never looking away from Tony.

"No, he's going to be okay _thanks_ to you." Pepper grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. To be fair, Peter let her. He could've resisted if he wanted to, but he just didn't have the energy to put up a fight.

"Listen to me, Peter," Pepper demanded, leveling him with a determined look. "If you hadn't been there, Tony wouldn't be alive. He would've died then and there in that warehouse. By himself."

Peter suppressed a flinch as he dropped his gaze down to the floor. He'd thought about that. He'd imagined every possible scenario in which things could have gone much, much worse.

"But he wasn't alone, Peter," the woman continued. "He had you. He still does." She gave his arms a gentle squeeze.

"He shouldn't have been there!" Peter rebutted immediately . "I'm the reason that he's in that hospital bed! I'm the reason he got hurt! That man was using me as bait for Mr. Stark! He knew he would come for me! None of this would have ever happened if Mr. Stark didn't know me." The last part was said in a whisper, almost as if Peter were trying to convince himself.

He let out a small yelp as he was suddenly dragged over to side of the bed. Pepper reached down and grabbed Peter's hand.

"What're you–"

The click of his jaw snapping shut was audible as Pepper placed the teen's hand over Tony's heart. Neither of them moved as Peter felt the steady thumping of the man's heart. It was unwavering, constant, strong.

"He's alive _because_ he knows you," Pepper whispered with such conviction that Peter could almost believe it. "I've been around Tony long enough to know that he doesn't regret meeting you. He doesn't ever wish that you weren't a part of his life. He cares about you, Peter."

Peter's heart gave a flip-flop at her words.

"And given Tony's track record, that's saying a lot." Pepper gave his wrist a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Peter let his hand linger on the man's chest a moment longer before placing it back at his side.

"I'm going to go grab some food," Pepper said, gathering her purse off the chair from where she must have tossed when she entered the room. "And you, young man, are going to eat." And with that, she spun around and headed towards the door, her heels clicking against the tile.

"Ms. Potts," he called at the last second, watching as the woman paused with her hand on the door handle, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Thank you," he said, meaning it with everything he had in him.

Pepper's only response was a smile before she slipped out the door.

Peter walked back around to the bottom of the bed and scooped up the squashed bouquet on the floor. He deposited the whole thing in the trash; they weren't very attractive to look at now. Peter grabbed one of the two chairs in the room and pulled it up close to the side of Tony's bed.

He reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around Tony's wrist, fingertips settling on the pulse thrumming just under his skin. He knew he could have simply looked at the heart monitor next to bed for confirmation, but being able to feel it himself was far more comforting than a screen could ever be.

Peter leaned forward and laid his free arm on the bed and rested his chin on top of his arm, positioning himself to where he could see Tony's face while also watching the rise and fall of his mentor's chest. Sure, maybe he had a machine breathing for him and maybe he had a machine feeding him, but he was _alive_ , and to Peter, that was all that mattered.

His world seemed to regain a sense of balance. And for the first time in days, Peter slept a dreamless sleep.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Drop me a review if you have the time!


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